All My War Is Done
by Banfennid
Summary: It's the Trio's seventh year at Hogwarts, and the war is on. Rumors of a legendary magic necklace reappearing in the woods of Germany have both good and evil running to investigate... but can good and evil be so easily defined?
1. Prologue : The Girl I Knew Somewhere

**Title: All My War Is Done  
**Author: Banfennid  
E-mail: the_bitca@banfennid.com  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Author's Note: I have the most amazing kick-ass betas in the whole entire world, and their names are Fearthainn, FireWillow, and Bansidhe. I luff you.  
_  
  
I find no peace, and all my war is done;  
I find fear and hope, I burn, and freeze like ice;  
I fly aloft, yet can I not arise;  
And nought I have, and all the world I seize on,  
That locks nor loseth, holdeth me in prison,  
And holds me not, yet can I scape no wise:  
Nor lets me live, nor die, at my devise,  
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.  
Without eyen I see; without tongue I plain:  
I wish to perish, yet I ask for health;  
I love another, and thus I hate myself;  
I feed me in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain.  
Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life,  
And my delight is the causer of this strife.  
  
"Description of the Contrarious Passions in a Lover" by Sir Thomas Wyatt the Elder_  
  


**Prologue : The Girl I Knew Somewhere  
**

  
_June 1998_  
  
When Hermione woke up, she knew that it all hadn't been a bad dream. What she did _not_ know however, was how much worse it was going to get.  
  
They were in what appeared to be a dungeon -- dark, dank, and quite empty except for themselves. Harry and Ron were both still unconscious, and... Hermione squinted, her pounding head making her eyes swim. Was that Ginny in the corner? Ron, Harry, and probably herself as well, were filthy and definitely had various bumps and bruises. She wasn't a mediwizard, but she was fairly sure she had a cracked rib or two, and it felt like her right wrist was sprained. Remembering how her head had throbbed when she first woke up, she felt around for any open cuts or particularly tender spots; there seemed to be a nasty lump on the back of her head, but no blood.  
  
Wanting a closer look at everyone she attempted to stand up, but the creaking of her sinews and bones kept Hermione on the ground. Resorting to a crawl, she dragged herself over the cold, rough stones to Ron and checked his breathing first -- strong and steady. Crossing the need for CPR off her mental list, she scrutinized the rest of him and swallowed hard when she saw the twisted angle of his leg.  
  
_Oh no. Same leg, too. They must have thrown us down the stairs to the dungeon._  
  
Being careful not to jar him for other injuries she couldn't easily see, she inspected him as best she could. With the exception of some blossoming bruises, the broken leg seemed to be the only major injury. Lots of dirt from the floor of the cell, but there weren't even any bumps on his head. She kissed him gently, took a deep breath, and pulled herself over to Harry.  
  
The easiest thing to spot was that his spectacles had cracked and that he had blood on his face. Not immediately seeing the source, Hermione picked delicately through his matted black hair and spotted a long, deep gash running from behind his left ear almost to the middle of the back of his head; thankfully, it appeared to have clotted already. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she lifted up his right trouser leg only to be greeted by the empty holster strapped to his shin.  
  
_Bugger. They took his spare wand._  
  
She pored over the rest of him, and when she began to inspect his chest Harry gave a sudden yelp of pain and sat up gasping.  
  
"Bloody hell, 'Mione, what are you doing?" he yelled, pushing her hand off of his collarbone.  
  
"Finding one of your injuries, apparently," she retorted. "Let's have a closer look, come on."  
  
Obediently, Harry unbuttoned his shirt and gingerly pulled it off his shoulder. She leaned in, squinting in the faint light, and made out some bumps near his neck right where his collarbone should jut out. The ugly dark purple bruise was already obvious, even in the darkness.  
  
"You've definitely cracked your collarbone, possibly broken it. I'd move as little as possible."  
  
"Yes, thank you for mentioning that, Hermione, I don't think the _searing pain_ would have stopped me."  
  
"You've been friends with Ron too long, he's rubbing off on you," she snapped back. "At least he's still unconscious. I'd hate to hear what he would say to me if I touched that leg of his."  
  
Harry's only response was to look at her darkly, the torch light making his eyes bright in his dirty face behind his broken spectacles. Hermione, used to seeing him retreat into himself, said, "Now, can you feel any other sore or painful areas? Maybe something we can't immediately see?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good, then you're probably not going to die any time soon, at least not from your injuries."  
  
Harry started to chuckle at the morbid truth of that statement, but a coughing sound emanated from Ron and they both turned to see him trying to pull himself into a sitting position. Hermione made her way back over to him as fast as she could.  
  
"Hey there, handsome, how are you feeling?" she asked as she brushed some stray hair from his forehead.  
  
"Broken." His voice was hoarse and pained, but strong.  
  
"Yes, well, you're not too far off. I would avoid looking at your leg, darling, if I were you."  
  
Ron grimaced and rolled his eyes, the pain of a broken leg far too familiar for his comfort.  
  
"Now excuse me for bit, sweetheart, as there's someone else unconscious over there," she said as she made her way as quick as she could to the crumpled body in the corner. "Bloody Baron, it's Snape!"  
  
As Hermione stared at the formerly missing potions master, she pondered over how she had thought he was Ginny. Recalling her pounding head and blurry vision in the dim torch light when she had first woken up it failed to surprise her, especially since they were both tall and Ginny had been in black from head to toe the last time they had seen her. Now that Hermione was closer, she could see that one of his eyes was swollen shut, his lower lip was split, and through the huge rips in his black cable jumper she could see the distinctive marks created by the Cruciatus curse.  
  
"They've been torturing him."  
  
Harry scrambled over to the corner. "Are you sure he's still breathing?"  
  
"I can't see his chest moving, but he's definitely warm."  
  
"It's obvious they were expecting us," Ron interrupted from the middle of the cell. "I wouldn't put it past them to have kept him alive until we showed up, then dump his body in here to mess with our heads. Classic intimidation techniques."  
  
Harry and Hermione both turned around to gape at Ron. He shrugged and held his hands up in defense. "What? I have five older brothers, two of whom are Fred and George!"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to Snape as Harry snickered. "He's got a point, 'Mione. Remember that time when--"  
  
"Harry. Snape is unconscious, possibly dying. Work with me here."  
  
"Right, sorry."  
  
She hurriedly felt for a pulse, wincing at the sharp twinge in her wrist when she did so. Long seconds went by without any sign of life except the heat still radiating from his body, and her panic increased.  
  
"Come on Professor, you've lasted this long, you can't give up now. There's a hero's welcome waiting for you back at Hogwarts; you've been waiting your whole life for people to respect you, and now they do!"  
  
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down and relax, willing her fingertips to find the tiny heartbeat on his neck or even his wrists (which were much less reliable). She didn't dare give him CPR, not with those Cruciatus wounds on his chest; she might kill him in the process. Harry took her other hand, trying to ground her, and Ron, in an attempt to relieve the severity of the situation, joked, "Well, you know, not finding his pulse doesn't mean he's dead. We've always wondered if he even _has_ a heart..."  
  
Harry burst out laughing, one hand on his collarbone to keep from shaking it too much. Hermione desperately tried to keep from giggling as she kept searching for signs of life. All of a sudden, there it was, a weak thrumming under her fingers, and she gasped. "There it is. He's alive, and he _does_ have a heart." Harry and Ron beamed at her while she slumped back against the wall, lightly hugging her sore ribs as she took stock of the situation.  
  
"Brilliant, Hermione, absolutely brilliant."  
  
"Thank you, Ron. All right... we're all injured in some form or another, but only Professor Snape seems to need any _immediate_ medical attention. For the three of us, we can improvise some bandages from our clothing and splints from the pieces of used torch wood scattered here in the cell. The only thing that is really worrying me at the moment is where---"  
  
"Well, well, well... look who's awake."  
  
Three heads whipped around to see Draco Malfoy standing outside the bars, leering in at them. His pressed grey trousers and dark green raw silk shirt, under black robes with the Malfoy crest on his right breast, were a stark contrast to the dirty, bruised prisoners in front of him. The torch light reflected brightly off of his platinum hair and made his grey eyes look hollow and empty.  
  
"You lot never fail to amaze me. Did you honestly think we didn't have spies of our own? That we didn't know you were coming for the necklace? I've always thought you won by sheer dumb luck, now I'm _sure_ of it. Pathetic, really."  
  
"You think we were it, Malfoy?" Harry retorted snidely. "This was just a side excursion, to see if we could get the necklace before He brought it to us. The defence of Hogwarts will stand without Harry Potter, and even if I am in your vile excuse for a dungeon, Voldemort and I will get our fight. You're not allowed to kill me, are you? Because he wants another chance at that duel in the graveyard; he wants to take me down with my wand in hand, in front of all his followers. It's the same reason Snape's still alive after two betrayals... he wants to kill us both at the same time, when all you little Death Eaters have gathered to bow before His Snakiness."  
  
Draco took a step forward, the torch light shifting out of his eyes to make them glitter darkly. "The defence of Hogwarts will _not_ stand, Potter. We know all about it, every booby trap, every posted guard. Your ridiculous Alliance has failed, and when it's all over, I'll make sure you're buried right next to your mum and dad so I can dance on all of your graves."  
  
"Funny, Malfoy, I was thinking exactly--"  
  
"_BOYS_!"  
  
Harry and Ron started and turned to look at Hermione. Draco leaned casually against the bars of another cell and proclaimed icily, "The mudblood speaks! Yes, please, let's stop this pissing contest right now and all turn our attention to the _Lady_ of the Dungeon."  
  
Hermione pointedly ignored the withering sarcasm and continued, "So _sorry_ to interrupt, gentlemen, but where is Ginny?"  
  
Harry's eyes widened behind his cracked spectacles as he realized that he had forgotten all about Ginny. Hermione slid over to comfort Ron, who looked devastated that he hadn't noticed his sister was still not with them. Harry began to peer into the other cells in the dungeon until he heard Draco start to chortle. "You won't find her in here, Potter."  
  
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER, MALFOY?"  
  
Draco winced, showing visible disgust at the crass volume. "Temper, temper, Potter. There's really never a need to shout." He gracefully lowered himself down into a crouch where he could be somewhat eye to eye with Harry and leaned into the bars. "Are you sure you want to know? I'll tell you, if you honestly think you can handle it..."  
  
"Either tell us where my sister is or sod off, Malfoy," came Ron's surprisingly calm voice from where he had laid his head down in Hermione's lap. Draco stood up in one fluid motion and, with a smirk on his face, held out his hand to darkened stairwell.  
  
"Very well. Virginia, darling, they're requesting to see you."  
  
Ginny strolled into the dungeon, her heavy black boots clunking on the stones of the floor, herself absolutely smashing in a tight, low cut black cotton blouse with three-quarter length sleeves and formfitting green silk trousers that had tiny black dragons embroidered on them. Ron sat up in shock. The redhead walked right up to Draco, taking his hand, and he pulled her in... for a kiss. A very long, slow, intense kiss. Hermione, Ron, and Harry all gaped at the spectacle in front of them, not really processing what it meant. It was Ron who spoke first, his voice cradled in disbelief.  
  
"Spies of our own..."  
  
Draco and Ginny broke off, Ginny turning to settle her back against Draco's chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Hermione's heart sank when she saw the malicious smile on her dear friend's face, perfectly matched to his.  
  
"I'd say I'm sorry, Potter, but I'm really not." Draco's smug look turned into Ginny's neck, placing soft kisses along her jawbone before he continued, "You have to admit, it's priceless. All these years together, you and I, vicious Quidditch rivals among other things, and the one time it really counts -- I'm the one who gets the snitch."  
  
Ginny laughed and pulled herself slightly out of Draco's embrace to turn and grin at him. "Darling, you made a pun!"  
  
"Why, yes I did. Rather awful it was, too. But," he shrugged, "I just couldn't help myself. It was too perfect to pass up." He looked back at the prisoners, the warmth in his face for Ginny now gone as his attention returned to his erstwhile guests. "Besides, they'll all be dead soon anyway, and won't be able to tell anyone else about the lapse in my excellent wit. Come on, we've had our fun with them. Dinner won't be held for us."  
  
And they turned to head back up the dungeon stairs, leaving the broken Gryffindors behind iron bars and cold as their captors' hearts.


	2. One : On Your Mark

**Title: All My War Is Done (1/?)  
**Author: Banfennid  
E-mail: the_bitca @ banfennid.com  
  
Primary Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Additional Disclaimers: The name of Gisela Inselhoffer is humbly borrowed from a character in the Eisen sourcebook of _7th Sea_, by far the greatest role-playing game system ever created. This particular characterization of Lavender Brown was created by FireWillow for the LiveJournal RPG _Reparo_.  
  
Author's Note: I didn't think I had to say this, but given some problems I've had with the Prologue apparently I do. This fanfic is not to be posted to any list or archived on any site, in whole or in part, without my express permission. Please feel free to _link_ to it, but do not take the actual text for yourself, as this prevents me from controlling where my fic can be found in case changes need to be made. I hope you can respect my wishes on this matter.  
_  
~*~  
  
Some people remember the first time, some can't forget the last  
Some just select what they want to from the past  
It's a song that you danced to in high school; it's a moon you tried to bring down  
On a four-in-the-morning drive through the streets of town  
Come on, come on, it's getting late now; come on, come on, take my hand  
Come on, come on, you just have to whisper; come on, come on, I will understand  
  
Come On Come On, Mary-Chapin Carpenter  
  
_

**One : On Your Mark**  


  
_I am walking through the castle briskly, skirts swishing, my eyes darting about constantly as if he might appear around every corner. When I pick the skirt up so I can move faster, the intricate brocade feels rough under my fingers, so very unlike her creamy skin, soft and white in the moonlight. He will kill me, I think he already suspects, but he cannot know the whole truth... for I would be dead already. I must go faster, faster, always faster, stay one step ahead. I want to rip off these heavy jewels and burn all the fancy dresses, but I cannot, for I have nowhere to go. He owns me, my family, my future, but the pull is too strong. None of that matters when she is brushing my hand or breathing into my neck; I am no longer a noble or a wife or a dutiful daughter, I am her lover, and we are all that is. And it will be the death of me.  
  
"Franceska."  
  
Merciful mother, he has found me. But he does not know where I am going, not why, he could not know. I can live one more day.  
  
"Yes, husband?"  
  
"Where are you rushing off to at such a late hour?"  
  
The weight of the jewelry he buys for me and makes me wear is intolerable, I feel it like chains and shackles about my neck, my hands, pulling my ears.  
  
"It is a full moon tonight, and the hounds are restless. I was on my way to visit them, to try to soothe their passions."  
  
It is not a lie. She waits for me, drowning in the moonlight that falls into the Keeper's quarters, and it is our passions that will be soothed. Suddenly, he comes out of the shadow of the hallway, and I smell the liquor on his breath and see the malice on his eyes. Only his passions shall be taken care of on this eventide.  
  
But then he grabs me roughly around my neck and turns me about so he can hold me in the prison of his arms, and I fear for the life that has never been mine since the day I was born a female.  
  
"You shall not go to the hound paddock tonight, wife, or any other night. You are mine, and I intend to show that to you."  
  
He begins to tighten his grip upon my neck, and I realize that he is done forcing my wifely duties. He has no desire for shared goods, and as he closes my throat off from the precious air I writhe and kick and scratch to no avail. He is too strong, and the symbols of him upon me weigh me down impairing my ability to fight back. I grow heavier and heavier, wishing to gasp for one breath of air, even if it shall only be to tease me before he clamps down again. I can see the moon, full and silent in the window of the castle, fading darker and darker with the rest of my vision.  
  
I reach out for it, for my love, as my world goes black._  
  
But it was Lavender Brown who woke up screaming in her bed.  
_  
~*~  
  
_Draco leaned lazily against the door frame leading into his mother's dressing room in Malfoy Manor. Narcissa was sitting in front of her vanity doing her hair for the party tonight. Draco was always impressed with his mother's appearance; her makeup was tasteful be it night or day, and her clothes were never garish, but instead carefully tailored and refined, perfectly suited for the wife of the Dark Lord's most devoted servant. She shared the sharp lines of his face and his platinum blond hair, but he had Lucius' eyes -- the sign of a true Malfoy. While his thoughts wandered, she caught him studying her in the vanity mirror.  
  
"Draco, don't slouch, it makes your bones show." He pushed himself away from the door frame and walked over to her vanity, pulling a chair beside the table and sitting on it so he was now slouching over the back, legs angled out on either side, arms crossed under his chin. He looked pointedly at Narcissa doing her hair in the mirror until she glimpsed him in the reflection again and pursed her thin lips. "Like _that_ is any better. Honestly, you're nothing but legs and arms, you'd think we never feed you."  
  
"Well, Mother, when one of those cooks you hire makes something edible, maybe I'll gain some weight." At that, she dropped her hands from her hair and shot him an exasperated look in the mirror.  
  
"You know how hard it is to find someone who isn't spying on or trying to kill us all, especially the last few years. For awhile after that woman poisoned the Beef Wellington on your fifteenth birthday, I thought I might have to start cooking everything myself." She shuddered at the memory and returned to securing her hairstyle with gem-studded combs.  
  
"Oh, we simply _couldn't_ have that," he mocked, straightening his back so he was no longer draped on the back of the chair. "Then I'd really starve to death."  
  
"If I'd wanted to cook my own meals, Draco _Malfoy_, I'd have married Severus Snape," she retorted. Draco's eyes widened and his jaw dropped; Narcissa sacrificed a hand from her French twist to reach out and close his mouth. "Don't read anything into that except a dig at his small means, Draco. There's never been anything between us."  
  
Draco raised a pale eyebrow. Now this was something he wanted to pursue; his parents were extremely tightlipped about anything regarding the old days, particularly the dynamics of the relationships between all the Death Eaters. It was part of their effort to show a united front, for knowledge of dissension gave the other side a possible weapon. "Did he ever want there to be?"  
  
"Not from what I could ever tell. He has always given the impression that he merely tolerates everyone's existence, even his alleged allies. I think he's a very lonely and bitter man, and it's his own fault." Narcissa, frustrated at a chunk of hair that simply would not stay in place, took out the combs and started over. "Now, enough about Severus, let's talk some more about you. Why have you not brought any young women home to meet your parents?"  
  
Draco grimaced. _Not this again_, he thought as he rolled his eyes. "I don't suppose the possibility has crossed your mind that I'm homosexual?"  
  
"I know enough about your nighttime exploits to be sure of your sexual orientation, young man. Don't change the subject."  
  
"There aren't any girls worth bringing home, Mother." _I just shag them in their beds and leave before they wake up._  
  
"What about the Parkinson girl? An alliance with them would be ideal."  
  
"She's a silly bint."  
  
"Draco!" His mother's voice was sharp and condemning.  
  
"Well, it's true." _And I doubt she'd ever let me in her room again._  
  
"It may be true in your narrow perception, but you certainly shouldn't go around saying such things about her. You can never be sure who is listening." Narcissa's hair was almost done, this time with every hair behaving exactly as it should. "I just want you to understand the importance of your position as the Malfoy heir. Your father and I were practically engaged by the beginning of our seventh year."  
  
Draco tried a different track to get her off the subject of marriage, because it would soon lead to talk of babies. "It's not my fault there's no one of your caliber at Hogwarts, Mother," he declared, flashing her his dazzling smile.  
  
"You flatter me, dear. It would be even nicer if I thought you really meant it." She smirked at him in the mirror, the mother side of her knowing exactly what her son was doing while the part of her named Narcissa reveled in the compliment. Draco suddenly realized that he did mean what he had said; all the girls he knew bored him compared to his mother... except for one. And she was untouchable.  
  
Shaking his mind out of that thought, he decided to dig a little deeper into his parents' relationship. "Father didn't deserve you."  
  
Narcissa didn't even hesitate. "You're right, he didn't deserve me. He earned me. And I've used my brain and his money to make a son worth more than both of us together."  
  
"And people wonder why I'm arrogant," Draco laughed. She was brilliant, completely deflecting his probing question back onto himself without missing a beat; he decided to be more direct. "I know why you married him, Mother... but doesn't it bother you that he's not the center of the circle anymore?"  
  
Narcissa didn't answer for a bit, putting the finishing touches on her hair and checking her makeup while avoiding her son's gaze. "He was. At one time." The sparkling combs now fixed in place in her shining hair, she tilted her head down and slightly towards him, but refused to look directly at her son. "I'd not have this conversation with anyone else if I were you, Draco. Blind loyalty is a very dangerous thing and you'll be dead before you can feel the embarrassment of having been murdered by a fool."  
  
Before Draco could respond, one of the maids came into the room. "Madame Malfoy, the first of the guests are beginning to arrive." She promptly left, not waiting for a thank you that would never come.  
  
Inspecting her ensemble one last time in the vanity, Narcissa stood up with a rustle of her skirts and then turned around. "Best run along and get dressed properly, Draco."  
  
He signed and ambled up out of the chair, sauntering off to his chambers to pick a suitable outfit for the evening's festivities.  
  
~*~  
  
Hundreds of miles from Malfoy Manor, Gisela Inselhoffer was running, running, faster and faster through the Black Wood of Germany gaining on her prey with every sounding footfall. Angry branches whipped back into her face as she pounded forward, leaving red welts that occasionally dripped blood. The forest floor crackled beneath her; whether it was sticks, bugs, or bones of small animals she didn't want to know. She had to catch him before he got away with her wand and more importantly: information. She could see his trail of movement, the trees attacking her more as she got closer and closer. He was barely an arm's length away when she brought both feet together on her next step and catapulted herself forward, dark hair streaming after her like a banner, tackling him and slamming him into the ground.  
  
She searched him while he lay stunned trying to get air into his lungs; she found her wand (ash, dragon heartstring, nine inches) hidden by an inside jacket pocket. With a flourish and a low harsh voice she cast the Partial Body-Bind on his legs and straddled his torso, pinning his arms above his head.  
  
_I'm getting too old for this._  
  
"Evening, Nigel. Now... what is a nice minion like you doing in the Black Wood on a night like this? The locals say that nasty things roam about on the full moon." She spoke in English, the words heavy with her German inflection.  
  
"Gisela," he coughed. "Always a pleasure." She sat down on his chest, cutting off his air.  
  
"Try again." She kept her weight on him and saw his eyes widen in panic as he felt the pangs of suffocation; Gisela had a reputation, and she liked it that way. He would tell her what she wanted to know. He always did.  
  
_And that's why you'll never be anything more than just a sorry cliché, Nigel.  
_  
She lifted herself up just enough so that he could gasp a few lungfuls of oxygen and repeated the question. "What are doing here? What did Fessler send you for?" A drop of blood from one of the scratches on her cheek fell onto his shirt.  
  
"I'm not going to insult your intelligence by pretending you don't know already. I'm sure you've heard the legend... the ginger tiger that roams the woods at night, forever looking for her lost love... and the sapphire necklace she wears around her neck." Alarm bells went off in Gisela's head.  
  
_We should have known that we wouldn't be the only ones looking for it. This could be a serious problem._  
  
"But it is only a story. A tiger? In Germany? Wearing a magical necklace? I cannot believe Fessler would go chasing after such things."  
  
"Weren't you? Why on earth would you be at the Tragüe ruins after dark if not for the legend?"  
  
She allowed a slow, chilling grin to spread across her face. "Sightseeing. Naturally."  
  
He snorted at her blatant lie. "If you insist. It's not like you're going to be able to get your hands on it anyway, not both parts at least--"  
  
"Both parts?" He opened his mouth and closed it again, at a loss for words. "Now how would you know that it's been separated into two pieces?" No question; Nigel was hiding something from her. "You naughty little man. You have something, don't you?" Gisela rolled off his chest and stood up in one move, pointed her wand and said, "Accio!" No longer pinned, he sat up and desperately tried to grab the various objects that flew at her from his pockets: loose change, a safety pin, keys, notepad, pocketbook, a chewed pencil, some lint. She danced every trinket out of his reach and laid them on the ground in front of her. Nothing. No necklace or anything even resembling one. He couldn't have transfigured it, because he would have risked mucking with the enchantments already on it, and without them the necklace was merely a very expensive trinket. She turned back to Nigel, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. He was still sitting up, arms crossed against his chest, legs locked straight, looking very smug.  
  
"Thief. Now give me back my things and unhex me, you horrid woman." She ignored him and began to inspect every thing by hand instead of just with her eyes. She tucked away the notepad in her robes for future reference, but everything else seemed perfectly innocent.... until she got to the keys. They were bound on a metal ring with what appeared to be a simple metal pillbox dangling from it, engraved with his name.  
  
"Hypertension, Nigel? Headaches?" She opened the box, revealing no pills waiting on the little cushion to be ingested. "Interesting. You must have already taken them for today. But really, why on earth does a pillbox need a cushion?" He didn't look quite so smug anymore. She reached in and gently pulled out the padding at the bottom of the little box and turned it over to reveal a large sapphire nestled in the underside. She shook it out into her hand and stared at it, facets glinting in the moonlight.  
  
_I wonder if he has any idea what this can do._  
  
Gisela closed her hand around it and tucked it into her brassiere, then turned back to her unfortunate catch. "I am sorry, Nigel." His face went white; she didn't apologize for taking people's things. Ever. "But you are the only person who knows that I have this now." He panicked and tried to pull himself away with just his arms because his legs were still petrified. She calmly took off the hex, and as he scrambled to stand she pulled a knife out of her belt, came around behind him, and slit his throat without saying another word. As he lay on the ground, blood pouring out of him, she gathered up his belongings, making sure to take everything from his pockets with her; it had to look like a random Muggle robbery gone bad. Tourists were easy targets in this area and Nigel would end up one more folder on the pile. She patted her chest, feeling the sapphire, and apparated away.  
  
~*~  
  
On the other side of the globe, Ginny and Hermione lay baking in the sun of Siem Riep. Slathered in sunblock and floating in the hotel pool, neither one had any desire to ever return to the grey skies of England.  
  
"Hermione, tell me we never have to go home."  
  
"What, not looking forward to another year in the Potions dungeon with Professor Snape? Finding out how the DADA professor is trying to kill us all through malice or incompetence? Running the dueling club with Malfoy? Or did you mean literally home, where your mum can constantly drop great big neon signs around your feet that say, 'Why on earth haven't you found a nice young man, a.k.a. Harry Potter, so you can have piles of green-eyed black-haired babies as soon as you leave Hogwarts?' "  
  
Ginny laughed. "You've noticed that, too, eh? I'm surprised Harry even comes to the Burrow anymore, what with her blatant attempts to push us together. Don't think I haven't forgotten how she treated you when she thought you'd broken his heart. I am _never_ telling her that I turned him down."  
  
Hermione took off her sunglasses and stared at Ginny. "You did _what_?"  
  
Ginny shifted on the float so she was turned toward her brunette friend, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Harry never told you?"  
  
"No. And neither did you, I might add." Hermione was aghast.  
  
Ginny felt a wash of remorse flood over her as she recalled how he had refused to look at her after she had said no, nervously patting his shaggy hair over his forehead. "I basically rejected him, Hermione, I wasn't going to go around telling people that. I left it all up to him. I wouldn't even had said anything now but I was sure he would have told you and Ron." She dangled her hand in the water, sending ripples outward. "It happened back in February."  
  
Hermione slid off her float and swam over to Ginny, crossing her arms on top of a spare bit of float close to Ginny's head and propping up her chin. "Is that why you kept the thing between you and Neville so quiet?"  
  
"That was mutual. You know Neville and I weren't serious, Hermione, we were good friends and we were horny. We're still friends, we just don't shag anymore. End of story. The thing with Harry had nothing to do with it." She bit her lip.  
  
"But you didn't want to make him feel worse so soon after he asked you out?"  
  
"No, I didn't. I suppose I should quit being such a wimp and tell Mum so she'll stop with the hinting; it must make him feel terrible, now that I think about it." She sighed and rolled over onto her back. "Great. I'm _really_ not looking forward to going home after this."  
  
"Well, we're not due back for a couple of weeks at least and I have no intention of letting you dwell on this," Hermione said just before she overturned Ginny's float and dumped her in the water, precipitating a vicious splash fight that left both girls giggling hysterically in the Cambodian sun.  
  
~*~  
  
Lavender sat up gasping for breath, scraping away invisible hands from her throat. The moonlight spilled through her bedroom window in her parents' brownstone in London; breathing hard she felt the duvet, her nightgown, the cold glass in the window. She scrambled across the bed to look outside and saw automobiles, streetlights, pavement. It had only been a dream. Her eyes gravitated toward her night table where a pile of letters sat, their contents reminding her that for someone with her "talents," dreams were not always just dreams. She shivered and pulled the blankets back over her willowy frame despite the July heat, taking the latest letter owled that afternoon off the top of the stack to read in the bright moonlight. She could feel the beginning pangs of a familiar headache and forced the tears to stop welling in her eyes as she skimmed the pages for comfort.  
  
_Lavender -  
  
My research continues, as always. For obvious reasons, knowledge on Seers is kept highly classified, which is why I'm afraid I haven't been very much help to you this past year despite our regular correspondence. However, my recent promotion has given me a much higher clearance and I've discovered a great deal of information, enough I think to more than make up for my lack of erudition on the subject. I'm not going to lie to you... I didn't find a lot of good news. I'd rather tell you in person than in an owl, so if you're free tomorrow let's have lunch at our spot by the lake in Hyde Park; I'll bring the picnic.  
  
I do worry about you so, Lavender. Hopefully now we can figure out what you should do instead of just waiting for the next blackout.  
  
- Percy  
_  
Lavender wiped away a stray tear that had fallen down her cheek as she fluffed the pillow for lying down instead of sitting up. As she settled under the covers, her eyes roamed over the six-month stack of letters -- the entire history of a most unlikely friendship. What had started as an accidental encounter in Diagon Alley had turned into a research project for Percy, and as he had come up dry week after week he had turned to filling the letters with other things in order to distract her. Lavender found herself thinking about him more and more often, and tonight she fell asleep for the second time while holding his pristine penmanship to her breast.  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning, Lavender fussed in front of the mirror. Despite the fact that she had managed to get back to sleep, she had dark circles under eyes and no matter what she tried her blonde hair looked... wilted. She was going to have to resort to charms to make herself presentable for having lunch with Percy.  
  
_How ironic. All the spells I know from my stint as a vapid tart I now use to cover up the physical side effects of being an unregistered Seer._  
  
She chose a pale blue sundress with tiny Acony Bell flowers dotted across the fabric and white sandals, making sure that her toenails were painted the same shade of blue as her dress. Applying a final layer of lip gloss, she put her essentials into a dainty white handbag and slipped out of the house, not wanting to find out if her mother had heard her only child's screams the night before through her Valium haze.  
  
~*~  
  
Having wandered through some of her favorite shops to pass the morning, Lavender checked her face in her pocket mirror before heading to the lake. She spotted him at a distance, sitting on a blanket with a basket beside him, reading a book as his hair flamed against the green grass and blue water. Despite the summer sun, he was dressed in his standard outfit for venturing into Muggle London: tweed suit, neatly pressed with a long sleeve button down cotton shirt and matching tie. She noticed with a smile that he had taken off the suit jacket; he'd mostly likely agonized over whether to smother in the wool and make an appropriate impression to passersby, or remove the jacket and dare to look casual. He'd have pulled off the look if he could bring himself to remove the tie and unbutton the collar; right now he just looked like someone who had no idea how to relax. Lavender felt a flutter in her chest at the sight of him. As she began to head towards him, he spotted her and immediately scrambled up off the blanket to greet her properly, taking her hand and helping her down to the ground before sitting next to her.  
  
"I'm glad you could make it." He gave her a small smile, running a hand through his hair.  
  
"I'm glad you offered." She tucked her legs under the skirt of her sundress. He opened the basket and began to unpack lunch: fruits, some assorted cheeses, a cold pasta salad, and raspberry lemonade, her favorite.  
  
_He's so thoughtful._  
  
"So how are you?" he asked, offering a plate.  
  
She took it but didn't reach for any food, just setting the plate on her lap. "Actually, I had a very intense dream last night."  
  
Percy dropped the spoon back into the pasta. "You mean you actually _saw_ one of your visions?"  
  
"No, it wasn't a vision, it was a dream. I was a woman from a very long time ago. I was married, but... I was afraid of my husband... because of my lover. It's all very muddled. The one thing I do remember is that he killed me. My husband." She lifted her head to look at Percy. "I woke up screaming, feeling his hands on my throat."  
  
Percy knotted his eyebrows, both out of worry for Lavender and that there was a new puzzle in front of him. "Can you remember anything else?"  
  
Lavender began to play with the hem of her dress, more and more details coming back to her. "I was afraid, very afraid... but I needed her so much, I didn't care."  
  
"Her?"  
  
"My lover." She began to tear up bits of grass, the hem no longer satisfying her. "I remember... the way she touched me, the sound of her laugh, the feel of her skin... but none of that was in my dream. It's like I have the memories of the woman that I was in the dream, but they're all piecemeal. Scattered." She gave up on the grass and picked her plate back up from her lap. "Just something else for me to worry about," she said quietly as she reached for an apple.  
  
Percy covered her hand with his. "Everything has an answer, Lavender. We just have to be smart enough to find it."  
  
She stared at him, feeling that flutter again in her chest. Realizing that she was about to lean in and kiss him, she broke the silence. "Aren't you terribly hot, Percy?" she said, reaching over and undoing his tie and top button while he protested. She hoped he wouldn't realize it was just an excuse to be closer to him. "There," she said, folding it neatly and placing it on top of his jacket. "That must feel better. Now... onto what we came here for. What's the bad news?"  
  
Percy sighed and Lavender knew the topic wasn't going to get any brighter. "You have two legal choices if you decide to register. The first is to join the Ministry as an Official Seer."  
  
"And what happens to me then?"  
  
"You go into a safe house with their other Seers, if there are any at that point in time, where you can be observed at all times in case of visions. You'll have no unauthorized contact with people who don't have the proper security clearance. They'll feed you, and clothe you, and shelter you, while the visions gradually increase in number, intensity and length over time, causing irreparable damage to your neurological system. If you don't die by the age of thirty, you'll go insane. I searched every record I could get my hands on, Lavender. That's the oldest they get." He waited, looking at her face with concern as it grew paler and paler.  
  
"And the other option?" she prompted weakly.  
  
"You register as a Seer but decline to join the Ministry, in which case you must take a potion regularly that dulls your Seeing ability."  
  
"Dulls my Seeing ability?" She took a sip of the lemonade, needing liquid to soothe her suddenly dry mouth. "Along with what else?"  
  
"Cognitive function. It basically has the effect of a Muggle narcotic flowing through your system all the time."  
  
Lavender desperately searched his eyes, wanting it all to be a very sick joke that Fred or George had convinced him to play on her. "So. I turn into my mother," she whispered, and Percy frowned, not knowing what she was talking about. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could say anything Lavender made a connection in her head and her blue eyes went wide as she exclaimed, "Trelawney!"  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Trelawney... that's why she's always so loopy... it's the potion. She didn't want to go into a safe house. I don't want to be her, Percy." Lavender felt the beginning of tears forming.  
  
"You can become Trelawney, or you can die young either physically or mentally."  
  
"And those are my only options?"  
  
"Legally, yes. But you can leave the country, go somewhere that has different regulations. You can try to hide your abilities, but you won't be able to do that for very much longer. You're lucky I'm the one who found you and not someone else from the Ministry."  
  
"Percy... how much are you risking by telling me all of this?" She knew he wouldn't lie to her.  
  
"Truthfully, I could get arrested. If you showed up at a Ministry office today claiming to be a Seer, they'd sugarcoat the safe house and tell you every possible negative aspect of the potion, just so they could get you under lock and key and claim you made the decision yourself. Information is power, and they want control the information you See by controlling you. Right now, I am a severe security leak." He cleared his throat and pushed his wayward glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "You know, if you'd told me just a year ago that I'd be revealing classified information to a civilian, I'd have been horribly insulted, brushed you off and gone to color code my latest report." He took the apple out of her hand and began to peel it with a knife, methodically removing the skin with dexterous hands.  
  
_Why do I want him to touch me so badly_?  
  
"But as I rise higher and higher into the utter rot of the Ministry, I see how blind I was; a loss of innocence, you might say. My father tried for years to show me that, but it wasn't until I saw you shaking and unconscious in Diagon Alley that day that I even began to glimpse the big picture." The apple now peeled, he held up the one long piece of skin with a grin and then set to work on slicing the fruit for her.  
  
Lavender, overwhelmed with the bleakness of her future and unable to find the words to properly thank Percy for all of his effort, slid across the blanket, put her arms around him and began to sob quietly into his shoulder. Surprised, he didn't move at first except to put down the fruit and knife, but soon he tucked her head under his chin and held her close, rocking her softly as she cried out a year's worth of worry and pain beside the sparkling lake in Hyde Park.  
  
~*~  
  
Lucius snarled into the fire. "What do you mean, he's missing?"  
  
"Do you not understand English? He's _missing_. There's not much else to say. The woods are huge, he could easily be dead. It's not a nice place."  
  
"Which is why we are paying you quite a large sum of money to acquire this artifact for us, Mortimer. No more ridiculous underlings like Nigel doing your work for you, I want you out there yourself. You will bring us that necklace, or I will deal with you myself."  
  
Draco watched the encounter from the shadows of his father's study, careful that Mortimer Fessler could not detect him in the background.  
  
"Lucius, Nigel may have been a fool, but he worked for me for a reason. I think he's disappeared because he found something."  
  
"Then I suggest you work quickly to find out what that was. Don't contact me again until you have what I want," he ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand and walked across the study to sit behind his enormous desk. Draco didn't move.  
  
_Always wait to be asked. Volunteering makes your motives suspicious._  
  
"Draco, quit skulking in the corner. Come sit down."  
  
He moved without a sound except that of his polished wing tips against the hardwood floor and draped himself in a Chesterfield made of rich heady leather. The color of her eyes.  
  
_Stop it._  
  
Lucius rested his elbows on his desk, entwining his fingers together to hold his chin; the emerald in his pinky ring caught the waning light from the fire. "Your observations, Draco?"  
  
_Answer only the question asked and make them prompt you for more information._  
  
"He's a risk." Draco reached forward from his lounging position and took a crystal paperweight off the desk, tossing it back and forth between his manicured hands.  
  
The older man raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"  
  
"Fessler's a mercenary, a business man. He could already have the necklace and be stalling you in order to find someone offering him more money." Draco held the crystal up to the firelight, sending tiny rainbows shooting across the dark green walls and mahogany crown moldings. "Since the rumors of it have resurfaced we can't risk assuming we're the only ones looking for it."  
  
Lucius leaned back into his chair and studied Draco with a calculating gaze. "Astute observation. Fear is not a factor in your assessment?"  
  
"In his perception, he has an advantage in being the middle man. He believes that whichever side he sells to will protect him from the other." Draco tossed the paperweight one more time, sparkling in the glow, before placing it back where it came from. "Given our Lord's track record, there may be doubt of that assurance. Fear would actually make him more likely to betray us despite the fact that we are the ones who turned him on to the necklace in the first place." He locked on his father's gaze, grey versus grey; Lucius blinked first.  
  
"I'll inform the others of your opinion." Draco knew that meant the conversation was over, so he pushed himself out of the Chesterfield with a creak and left the room, hiding a smile as his back faced Lucius' eyes following his every step.  
  
_You do that, Father. And I'll be right here when He finally tells you to bring me inside the circle.  
_  
~*~  
  
A couple of weeks later, Ginny clambered up the last few crumbling stone blocks that passed for steps and stood up, finding herself face to face with King Jayavarman VII.  
  
Well, not the real King Jayavarman VII, but one of hundreds of huge, detailed carvings of his face as the omnipresence of the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvaara in this particular temple, keeping watch over the long dead residents of Angkor Thom in every direction. Now would begin the really tricky part; the wizards of ancient Kampuchea, like many other older civilizations, had channeled magic not through wands but through meditation, and because of this mere wands could not activate the older spells that still existed. Many magical things had fallen into legend because people had forgotten how to make them work, having become dependent on wand magic. Ginny sat down facing the topmost carving that looked west, crossed her legs, closed her eyes, and began to focus.  
  
The heat of the sun was like fire, cooking her pale freckled skin and causing rivulets of sweat to pour off her body. The air was heavy with the humidity, and she could hear the buzzing of the mosquitos that carried malaria by day, the droning no different from the ones that could give you dengue fever at night. She could smell the heady fragrance of the dense foliage that lived in, around, under, over, and through all the crumbling ruins, and felt the stillness of the various ponds, lakes, and moats of Angkor Wat seize her body, slowing it down to nothing. The stones beneath her that had burned her legs when she sat down were now cool and helped draw the searing heat from her skin.  
  
"IT HAS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE ANYONE HAS COME TO VISIT ME."  
  
Ginny opened her eyes to see the carving in the wall smiling and for no obvious reason tears began to spill out of her eyes at the sound of the voice, both vicious and soothing, thundering and faint. She blinked. And blinked again. It raised an eyebrow, loose granules and dust falling as the stone protested.  
  
"I AM SORRY IF I STARTLED YOU. PERHAPS I SHOULD HAVE SAID HELLO FIRST." Ginny blinked a few more times, now with her jaw hanging open. The face frowned, the features molding eerily in the dilapidated wall. "YOU HAVE COME TO TALK TO ME, HAVE YOU NOT?"  
  
Ginny snapped out of her stupor. "Sorry, yes, I came here to talk to you... I just didn't think I would be able to do it."  
  
"YOU SURPRISE YOURSELF. THIS IS GOOD. NOW YOU KNOW YOUR MIND THAT MUCH BETTER."  
  
Ginny cocked her head to the side. "You're not what I expected."  
  
"OH?" Ginny could swear that it chuckled. "WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?"  
  
"Well, the story usually goes that I agonize for days over my one question, and once I ask it I get a very vague and confusing one-liner about my inevitable destiny. I never imagined having a _conversation_."  
  
"FUNNY, I THOUGHT WE WERE MEANT TO BE HELPFUL. WHAT GOOD IS A VAGUE ORACLE?"  
  
"That's actually what I always thought, but it was better than nothing so I figured I'd give it a try."  
  
"VERY WELL. YOU ARE AT A CROSSROAD, VIRGINIA OF THE WEASLEY HOUSE. YOU MUST ACCEPT THE MARK YOU HAVE BORNE FOR FOUR YEARS AND USE IT TO SEE YOUR PATH."  
  
Ginny waited. Nothing. "Is that it?" She waited some more, sweat dripping onto the stones underneath her. "What is that supposed to mean?" She threw her hands in the air. "Oi! Hallo? We were talking here!" But the face appeared to have gone back to being just stone. Frustrated, she put her head in her hands and yelled, "Gah! I was enjoying the conversation, I didn't mean for you to become like all those other oracles!!"  
  
The face suddenly came back to life, endless debris falling off as it grinned broadly "HEH HEH HEH. I WAS ONLY TEASING. DO NOT FEAR, I SHALL CONTINUE TO SPEAK WITH YOU."  
  
Ginny wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at it.  
  
"I SAW THAT."  
  
"Let's get back to me, shall we? What kind of mark are you talking about?"  
  
"DO I REALLY NEED TO ANSWER THAT?"  
  
Ginny balked, memories of Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets flooding her head. "No, I don't suppose you do. My nightmares..."  
  
"THE NIGHTMARES ARE MERELY SIGNS THAT YOU HAVE NOT ACCEPTED WHO YOU ARE."  
  
"Who I am? I'm a Weasley, a Gryffindor. I'm on the side of good, not evil."   
  
"BRAVERY DOES NOT MAKE ONE GOOD, JUST AS AMBITION DOES NOT MAKE ONE EVIL. IT IS HOW WE USE THESE TRAITS THAT DECIDES OUR WAY."  
  
"Bit of a moral anvil to drop on a girl, don't you think? Like... _bam_, there it is, mind you don't trip. What are you telling me, that I'm destined to join Voldemort because of something foolish I did when I was eleven? That when I become what haunts me at night I've found my true self?"  
  
"THE NIGHTMARES WILL STOP WHEN YOU ACCEPT ALL THE FACETS OF BEING VIRGINIA WEASLEY. YOU HAVE ALREADY BEGUN. EVEN COMING TO VISIT ME BROUGHT OUT A PART OF YOU THAT YOU DID NOT KNOW YOU HAD. YOU ARE NEITHER BLACK, NOR WHITE, BUT YOUR OWN SHADE OF GREY. EMBRACE IT."  
  
Ginny wiped the drops dripping down her face with her t-shirt and stared at the sweat stain spreading across the front. "I'm afraid. The dreams _make_ me afraid, because in them I still feel like me... that's my destiny?"  
  
"I AM NOT TELLING YOU YOUR DESTINY. I AM SHOWING YOU THE DECISION YOU WILL HAVE TO MAKE BECAUSE OF YOUR PREVIOUS CHOICES. YOUR DESTINY IS YOUR OWN. KNOWING THAT YOU ARE AT A CROSSROAD WILL GIVE YOU GREATER INSIGHT INTO THE PATH, AND THAT IS REALLY ALL I CAN DO FOR YOU."  
  
Ginny sighed, sensing the conversation was over. "Thank you."  
  
"I AM JUST DOING MY JOB... BUT THE THANKS ARE APPRECIATED." It grinned once again, briefly showing a row of stone teeth and winking at her before hardening back into the same smiling face carved on the rest of Bayon.  
  
Ginny laughed and stood up, working the kinks out of her stiff knees and brushing dirt off of her legs. She began to work her way back down the ancient temple, using the stone dust to help her keep her grip. After several minutes she reached a distance where she could jump the rest of the way, but before she could Hermione appeared at the bottom. Ginny waved enthusiastically.  
  
"Hey there, Ginny! Look who finally showed up!"  
  
Neville came around the corner behind Hermione, beaming in the afternoon sun. Ginny squealed and leapt off the temple, landing squarely in front and throwing her arms around him.  
_  
_~*~  
  
Gisela stealthily walked through the woods in the light from the half moon, taking care this time to make no noise. Her own notes and the ones she'd nicked from Nigel both told her the necklace itself had to be in the ruins, but it had to be somewhere the treasure hunters hadn't scoured. The necklace may have been a legend, but the wealth of Christopher Tragüe was not and his land had been well picked over through the centuries. Nigel had hinted in his notes that he had found the sapphire completely by accident inside the remains of the castle, which explained why no one had found it before. It had fallen, from wherever it had been originally hidden, into a large crack in the stone floor of one of the bedrooms.  
  
But there was one part of the grounds most people ignored, and that was the pet cemetery. Tragüe had raised hounds as a hobby, for when he went hunting, and rumour had it that they were treated better than most of the servants. Every dog that had died had its own grave marker, no matter how young, and this is where Gisela began her search that night.  
  
She started at one corner and methodically worked her way through the cemetery without magic in case anyone had set a alert trigger to go off, moving quiet as a ghost caretaker herself. Occasionally she'd stop and stay perfectly still, all senses alert, but she could feel no danger. She checked each grave, the worn stones revealing a name here and there: Pacha, Traude, Auka, Ouran, Iella, Erek, Biele. They were overrun by grass and weeds; her hands got dirty and sore from clearing away the foliage and brushing off the dirt covering the words, often to find nothing at all but a faint impression of age. No clues, no hints, nothing to point her anywhere else. Studying the last gravestone, she slumped to the ground in frustration.  
  
And half sat on something hard and slightly raised.  
  
Picking herself back up again, Gisela knelt by the spot and probed the ground for the outer edge of what she'd discovered, well hidden by hundreds of years of soil shift and plant growth. Her fingers found well-defined edges and four sharp corners, of a size much too large to be a stone for a dog. Forgetting about her already aching hands, she yanked desperately at the weeds and dug her nails into the shallow layer of dirt, revealing a horizontal stone marker in pristine condition. This one had no name, only two words: Der Wächter. Under that was an intricate carving of a large cat on the prowl... wearing a necklace around its neck.  
  
_A cat that could easily become a tiger when the story is told enough times._ _Now why is an unnamed human buried in a hound cemetery under an enchanted marker carved with a bejeweled feline?  
_  
She traced her raw, tender fingers over the design, hoping for a sudden descent of insight. The detail was exquisite to the point where Gisela could even see a tear in the cat's eye in the moonlight, still intact after all these years because of the enchantment. She pulled a Locksmith's Lackey out of her robes, risking the small amount of magic to see if she should even bother with a larger Alohomora on whatever the marker was hiding. The ball glowed purple, indicating some serious locking and sealing charms; the only way to get at what she wanted was to find the proper way in. She replaced the Lackey and began to search the ground around the stone, looking for a hidden catch or other possible mechanism to lift the marker manually. An intense pain flooded her left hand, and when she brought her hand out of the grass she saw a deep gash across her palm that must have been sliced open by a rock on the ground; she felt tears brewing in her eyes from the injury.  
  
_Tears... someone loved this person very much._  
  
An avalanche of agonizing memories, not forgotten but simply thought to be well tucked away, ambushed her and the tears of physical pain quickly became tears of emotional misery. Gisela allowed a one of these new tears to fall part way down her cheek before wiping it away with her good hand, and she could see the bauble of salty water hanging from her swollen finger, clinging for a semblance of life. Unknowingly holding her breath she reached over to the marker and deposited the organic treasure right where the cat's own tear was falling.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Frustrated, she sat back on her heels and began to rip a piece of fabric off the bottom of her robes to bandage her hand, more stray tears dripping down her thin face. Muttering angrily under her breath, she cleaned out the wound as best she could with an antiseptic potion she always carried around with her, and as she pulled taut the final knot in the black strip, her eyes drifted back to the grave marker.  
  
Sitting primly on top was a short hair ginger cat, eerie eyes fixed right on Gisela. From outward appearances it looked feral, definitely not someone's pet, and possibly dangerous.  
  
_Well, so am I._  
  
Gisela laid flat on her stomach and held out her uncut hand to the cat; it cocked its head and slowly crept forward, sniffing but never taking those eyes off of the strange human. Eventually it reached her outstretched hand, and Gisela risked a small scratch against the side of its face. It jerked back and paced a bit before venturing forth again, this time risking a rub against her hand.  
  
"Are you the mysterious tiger that has everyone in an uproar?" She kept her voice soothing, without bite. It moved forward nonchalantly, stretching each leg as it went, pretending it didn't even notice her at all anymore... until it licked her nose. "Can you help me?" she whispered.  
  
It arched its back along her hand and padded back to the grave marker. Right in front of her eyes it pawed at the stone like it had caught a mouse, and then reached down to grasp something in its jaw. When its head came back up, a flash of gold and sparkle came with it.  
  
"Now where did that come from, you gorgeous creature?"  
  
It began to purr loudly, audible even in the distance between them. Gisela slowly slid toward the marker, not wanting to frighten her new friend, and stretched out her arms; the same instant the necklace dropped into her waiting hands the cat started hissing and spitting at something behind her. Gisela turned around only to find herself face to face with Mortimer Fessler a smattering of a second before he swung a small log against the side of her head.  
  
~*~  
  
Lavender sat up straight in her bed, not from one of the dreams this time but out of fear for the lateness of the hour. Looking at the clock on her bedside table, she realized she had only five minutes before she would be late for lunch with Percy.  
  
_Fuck, fuck, FUCK!_  
  
She threw back the covers and dashed to her dresser, sending clothes soaring all over her room until she settled for a purple t-shirt and a pair of jeans that already had her wallet in the back pocket. As she was running out the door she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped.  
  
_Gads, I look a fright._  
  
She had two choices: take the time to make herself look less like a corpse and make Percy wait for her while he was on his lunch hour, or leave now and spend as much time with him as she could. She picked the latter, yelling for a cabbie before she even had the front door closed.  
  
~*~  
  
Percy buried his nose in a book, attempting to read in the dim light of the pub while waiting for Lavender to arrive, but he couldn't concentrate. He was worried about her; she hadn't experienced another blackout in the last few weeks, but he had a suspicion from her letters that the dreams of the strange woman and her homicidal husband had continued. Percy didn't know which was worse: the visions and the side effects of them, not to mention the consequences of keeping them a secret, or reliving being murdered night after night. He pulled off his spectacles to wipe them on with his handkerchief, a nervous habit. He was placing them back on his nose when Lavender, in a t-shirt the colour of her name, slid into the booth beside him.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry I'm late, Percy, I overslept."  
  
He smiled. "You're not that late, I've only just sat down. I had to wait a bit for a table." He frowned. "You overslept? What time did you get to bed?"  
  
Lavender avoided his eyes. "Oh, I got to bed at a reasonable hour, I just didn't sleep too well. Normally my mother would have woken me after a certain time but she and my father left for Morocco on business yesterday."  
  
"You're still having that dream, aren't you?" He reached out a hand and turned her face towards him.  
  
She met his gaze. "Sometimes. But there are others. Sometimes he's stabbing her, sometimes he's drowning her. It's like he can't make up his mind how to kill her, and he's found a way to do it over and over again."  
  
Percy decided to change the subject, as making her remember was not how he wanted to help her. "Your parents left you alone?"  
  
"Well, it wasn't like they went on holiday."  
  
"But you're in that house by yourself?" he asked, concerned.  
  
"Yes," she said, softly. "I was thinking of visiting my grandparents, but I was just there not too long ago and I'd hate to barge in on them again so soon."  
  
An idea came to Percy quicker than Fred's hand in the cookie jar, and he hoped Lavender wouldn't think he was terribly impertinent. "Look... why don't you come and stay at the Burrow for a bit?"  
  
"Oh, I couldn't do that, I'd feel a bit awkward," she protested. Percy pushed, not wanting her to dismiss the thought so quickly.  
  
"Come on, I think it'll be good for you. You can get out of the city, and you won't be the only one visiting. Charlie's staying at the house so Mum can hover over him while he recovers from a work mishap, Hermione and Ginny are coming back from their holiday and picking Neville up along the way, Harry always spends the last few weeks before school with us to escape the Dursleys, and Fred and George will definitely be coming round every once in a while mainly because they can't cook for beans."  
  
"Fred and George?" Her face and voice were both wary; the twins' penchant for pranks was legendary.  
  
"I promise I'll protect you from them. Besides, they don't actually live there anymore, it's just Ron, Ginny, and I in the main house and Bill and Mathieu in the addition. Everyone else will be visiting, just like you."  
  
"But that's an awful lot of people, Percy, there can't possibly be room left for me in your house."  
  
"Nonsense. Mum and Dad have always been 'the more the merrier' types, and Mum will be tickled that I'm bringing a girl." He immediately turned a shade redder than his hair as he realized what he'd said. "Not that I'm bringing you home in that sense, of course, Lavender, it's just that with so many boys, Mum always enjoys the company of the fairer sex." Lavender grinned at him, obviously not offended. Feeling a bit of success, he shifted tactics. "You'd meet my nephew, Mathieu. He's just starting to toddle around the house."  
  
Lavender leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. "You're not going to stop until I agree to come, will you?"  
  
Percy noticed circles under her eyes, but said nothing. "I believe you've discovered my master plan, Miss Brown."  
  
She smiled and laughed, sitting back in the booth. "Alright, I'll go."  
  
Percy beamed and pushed his spectacles back up his nose from where they had slipped. "Excellent!" He grabbed two menus from the edge of the table and handed her one. "Now, what shall we have for lunch today? I think I'm craving a bit of Welsh rarebit, myself."  
  
~*~  
  
Ginny came out of the bathroom wrapped in two towels to cover her large frame, a third in her hand rubbing her wet hair; Neville was lying on one of the beds reading an imported copy of _The Daily Prophet_.  
  
"Any interesting news?"  
  
"No. It's been very quiet ever since school ended. No suspicious robberies, no unexplained murders, not even a blatant Muggle cleansing. The Dark Mark hasn't been seen in weeks."  
  
"They're up to something."  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"We're safer here than we are in Great Britain; that's why our parents let us come on this holiday." Ginny walked over to her duffle bag, yanking out a green tank top and a pair of khaki capris along with some fresh underthings and violently began to get dressed. "I hate feeling this helpless."  
  
Neville folded the top of the paper over so he could see Ginny. "You're one of the best duelers in the country, you're not helpless." He studied the redhead. "And when did you become so immodest?" Ginny shot him a questioning look; Neville nodded at her half naked body. Ginny picked up one of her wet towels and threw it at him, her perfect aim nailing his noggin.  
  
"Honestly, it's not like you haven't seen it all before, Neville Longbottom."  
  
He chuckled as he pulled the soggy terry cloth off his head and tossed it on the floor. "Come here, sit down. What's really bothering you?" he asked as put the newspaper on the bedside table.  
  
Ginny finished dressing and laid down on the double bed next to him. "I was coming from the top of Bayon when you and 'Mione showed up."  
  
Neville leaned forward, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Was it there?"  
  
She put her hands behind her head, her wet hair almost the exact shade of her eyes as she stared at the ceiling. "Oh, it was there all right."  
  
"YES!" Ginny turned her head to look at Neville, slightly annoyed. "Sorry, but you know how fascinated I've been by the stories of the Bayon Oracle ever since Loung told me about it. What did it say to you?"   
  
"It told me that the nightmares are part of who I am and I need to accept it. That I'm at a crossroad and the path I will choose is uncertain. And not about how many O.W.L.s I'm going to get this year, either; it insinuated that I could turn to either side in the war."  
  
"Bloody hell."  
  
"Yes, that was my reaction as well." She turned on her side and cradled herself in the crook of his arm, needing an anchor to talk about it further. "I know the nightmares have never stopped, but I just thought I hadn't gotten over it. I never... I never thought it meant I had a mark on my soul."  
  
Neville bit his lip, pondering whether to speak what was on his mind or not. Eventually he decided that she deserved to know. "Ginny, do you know why we could never really be together?"  
  
"You mean besides the fact that neither one of us is interested in the other romantically?"  
  
"Yes, there's that," he laughed. "But there's also the fact that I'm not dark enough for you."  
  
"What do you mean by that?" The question was soft and painful.  
  
"You talk sometimes, in your sleep. I can't possibly grasp what the experience with Tom Riddle and the Chamber has done to you, Ginny. I think that's why you turned Harry down, as well, in addition to his perception of you. He _could_ love you the way you wanted him to, one day, but he'd never understand you. He sees the world only in black and white, in absolute good and evil. He doesn't want to see grey, even after all these years. It's what makes him a hero."  
  
Ginny looked up sharply. "Is that you, too?"  
  
"Me?"  
  
"You don't want to see grey? Is that why you say we could never work if we actually tried?"  
  
"No, I see grey, I just don't understand it. I don't have the right kind of strength for it. I wouldn't be good for you Ginny, it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. I think now that you know you could turn to either side you'll be that much more aware of things will take you down the wrong path. It's like a child of an alcoholic avoiding the drink because they know they're at greater risk."  
  
They were interrupted by the sound of the door opening; Hermione had come back upstairs from the gift shop.  
  
"Did you find anything new?" Ginny called out from the bed.  
  
"Not a thing. I don't think their selection changes much, and I bought a lot the first week we were here," she answered as she flopped on the other bed.  
  
"Well, I don't know about you ladies, but it feels like dinnertime to me and I could really go for a lime soda. What do you say we hit the buffet in the restaurant?"  
  
"Excellent idea; all that hiking today has made me famished," Ginny exclaimed as she bounced off the bed.  
  
Hermione dragged herself back upright. "And just think, in a few days we'll be enjoying your mum's cooking."  
  
Ginny groaned. "You might be, but I'll be dead as Godric Gryffindor when I tell her about Harry."  
  
Neville gawked at her as held the hotel room door open for the ladies. "You are one brave woman, Ginny. I wouldn't have the nerve."  
  
"Let's not talk about that until I actually do the deed."  
  
"Fair enough. Race you to the elevator!" Hermione shouted as she took off down the hall. Ginny yelled and shot off after her, leaving Neville to laugh at them as he locked the door.  
  
~*~  
  
_August 1997_  
  
Ginny, Hermione, and Neville stepped through the fireplace at the Burrow, covered in soot and quite glad to finally be at their destination; travelling so far without an Apparating license required several jumps through the Floo network.  
  
At the sound of their coughing, Mrs. Weasley came bustling in from the kitchen and engulfed each of them in a crushing hug. "Hello, my dears, oh, how wonderful you're finally here!"  
  
"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione and Neville chimed in unison.  
  
"Hi, Mum. Are we the last to arrive?"  
  
As Ginny asked this Mr. Weasley poked his head around the corner into the living room. "I thought I heard something, excellent, excellent, you've made it home safe," he said, coming into the room proper and taking his turn to hug everyone.  
  
"Yes, dear, you're the last to arrive," Mrs. Weasley answered. "Everyone's outside, except Charlie, his leg was hurting so he's having a lie down. Ron and Harry have picked up some new game that appears to be a cross between Muggle rugby and Quidditch, very odd if you ask me, and Fred and George are playing against them. Oh, and Percy brought a guest of his own, one of your classmates I believe. Lavender's her name." Hermione and Neville's eyes went wide as saucers.  
  
"Lavender Brown?" Ginny asked as she counted their luggage, making sure everything had come through the fire.  
  
"Yes, that's her. Lovely girl." Mrs. Weasley was beaming at the possibilities.  
  
"You don't have to share a room with her," Hermione muttered under her breath. Ginny tried not to laugh and ended up snorting behind her hand.  
  
"Well, let's go outside and say hello, shall we?" Neville prompted as he put one arm around each of the girls and led them towards the back door.  
  
"Why did he bring Lavender?" Hermione asked to the air, throwing her hands up in frustration.  
  
"They met up by accident in Diagon Alley over the winter holidays this past year, and somehow hit it off. They've been exchanging letters ever since," Ginny told her, keeping her voice low.  
  
"Are they together?"  
  
"Not that I know of, but something could have changed while we were in Cambodia."  
  
Neville, each hand still steering, piped up. "Well, before we start badgering Percy and asking all sorts of embarrassing questions the likes of which I'm sure he's going to get from his mum later, let's just visit with everyone and we can study their body language while we're at it," he said, pushing them through the door.  
  
A large ball whizzed right by their heads and they ducked barely in time.  
  
"Oi! Watch your heads there!"  
  
"Hey, it's the late arrivals!"  
  
Fred and George were the first to spot them, and Ron heard them yelling and came running across the yard. He grabbed Hermione in a huge hug despite the dirt all over him from the game and swung her around, soot and all. Ginny raised an eyebrow and smiled.  
  
_I wonder if those two are ever going to get a clue._  
  
Harry walked up just as Ron was letting Hermione down, and as the black haired boy had his turn at a more subdued welcome Ron wrapped his long arms around his not-so-little sister. She couldn't wipe the smile off her face.  
  
_It's good to be home._  
  
Hellos and more hugs were exchanged all around, and the game soon started up again. Mrs. Weasley had been right; it was played like Muggle rugby, but the ball was basically a soft bludger constantly trying to wiggle out of your grasp crossed with a snitch that never flew above a certain height. It was highly entertaining to watch and probably equally as painful to play, but the boys seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.  
  
Ginny kept glancing over at Percy and Lavender, but she couldn't detect any signs that they were anything more than friends. Her gaze fell on her nephew, being bounced in Lavender's lap, and she felt both joy at his laughter and hollow sadness when she remembered that he would never really know his mother. He was a gorgeous child, with Fleur's features written all over his face, and despite the fact that he had the trademark Weasley hair there was a sheen to it that hinted of his mother's blonde locks. The memory of blood spotted over those beautiful tresses forced Ginny to turn her attention back to the game. She didn't want to remember that right now.  
  
After a few minutes, Hermione leaned over to Ginny and whispered into her ear. "Notice anything different about Percy?"  
  
Ginny risked looking again and scrutinized her older brother; her mouth fell open when she twigged what Hermione was talking about. "He's in a t-shirt. The world is ending."  
  
"I didn't think he even _owned_ a t-shirt. Look, it doesn't even have a pocket."  
  
"But it is a solid color, no pictures or slogans or anything."  
  
"True, but it's very unsettling. What's next, shorts?"  
  
Ginny turned to Hermione, her face serious. "If we see him in shorts, I definitely think we ought to have an intervention. It could lead to sneakers if we don't get him treatment."  
  
Hermione laughed and gave Ginny a small push. "It looks like the game might be winding down. I'm going to get some juice, do you want some?"  
  
"Yes, that'd be lovely, thank you."  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione started to go in the kitchen and stopped, suddenly taken in by the sight of Mrs. Weasley peeling and chopping vegetables with her wand for that night's stew. With so many young people in her house again to feed and dote over, she was absolutely vibrant. Hermione studied her, the woman who had become surrogate mothers to so many of them at Hogwarts, especially herself. Hermione's mum, try though she might, didn't really understand the world her daughter had come into, and Hermione had turned to Mrs. Weasley to fill the gaping hole left behind.   
  
As she watched Mrs. Weasley undetected from one of the door into the kitchen, Hermione spotted Mr. Weasley sneaking up behind his wife from the other door, somehow managing not to make a single noise on the old wooden floor. When he was right behind Molly he threw his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.  
  
"ARTHUR!" she squealed. "Honestly, you shouldn't do that when I'm slicing vegetables, I could have cut your ear off!"  
  
But the tone of her voice and the broad smile on her face revealed her obvious delight at the show of affection, and he did not desist. He moved his long, thin arms around her plump waist to let her finish her work but continued to nuzzle the top of her head with his chin. Hermione felt a smile come to her face.  
  
"We shouldn't be doing this, you know, what if one of the children came in?"  
  
"Good grief, Molly, we've had seven of them, you think they don't know where they came from? Bill already has one of his own! And I'm sure the ones that aren't ours are aware of all the facts."  
  
She tittered and blushed, continuing to cut up the vegetables for the stew. "Yes, I suppose they do. I just don't wish to go embarrassing them, that's all."  
  
Arthur chuckled and kissed her crown. "I promise to keep it tame. Besides, you're wielding a dangerous weapon, I wouldn't dare do anything impertinent." She giggled in response. "Molly, did you really have any idea what you were doing when you agreed to marry me?"  
  
"Don't be silly, of course I did."  
  
"Seven children?"  
  
"Every single one of them a light of my life."  
  
"A life of poverty, constantly struggling to make ends meet?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley put down her wand, turned around inside her husband's arms and cupped his face in worn hands, her eyes so full of love that she might have been eighteen again saying yes to tall redheaded man's proposal to spend the rest of his life with her. "What possible want could I have for money when I have man who still wants to kiss me after thirty years?"  
  
Hermione caught her breath as Mr. Weasley bent down and placed the sweetest of kisses on his wife's lips. He then beamed and winked at Mrs. Weasley while whipping out his wand with a flourish and pointing it at the Muggle radio in the corner. Crackling static poured forth and he wiggled his wrist until Hermione recognized the first few bars of "Love of My Life," an Everly Brothers song her parents played all the time. Molly abandoned the vegetables as Arthur danced her around the kitchen, faces pressed cheek to cheek. Hermione couldn't take her eyes off them, a wistful feeling building in her heart as she found herself desperately wanting a love like that one day.  
  
She was yanked out of her thoughts almost halfway through the song by a pair of hands on her waist that spun her around and pulled her against a chest wearing a Chudley Cannons t-shirt. The moment held for what might have been a lifetime as their eyes, one pair chocolate brown and the other ocean blue, saw nothing except each other. But it was, after all, simply a moment.  
  
"May I have this dance, mademoiselle?" Ron struck a grandiose pose, arms in position for a waltz worthy of Buckingham Palace. Hermione curtseyed, laughing, and they swept into the kitchen matching the music that filled the room.  
  
"Hallo, what's this?"  
  
"No one said we were having a ball!"  
  
Fred and George, arriving behind Ron, pranced into the fray performing their personal version of the box step causing even more laughter, and as the notes from the radio spilled through the open door into the backyard Hermione saw everyone else coming back inside. A new song began in the slow ending strains of The Everly Brothers, this one laden with bouncy drums and bass. After a couple of measures with Ron still swinging her around the kitchen, she recognized it as Jackie Wilson's "Higher and Higher." She glimpsed Neville's face lighting up as he grabbed Ginny's hand, dragging her into family room. Bill swung young Mathieu up into his arms and holding one of the boy's tiny hands swayed in the open double doorway between the two rooms; the toddler squealed with joy and bounced on his father's hip, his free hand holding Bill's ponytail in a death grip. Charlie, having finished his nap, hobbled in the family room and fell into one of the hardback chairs, leaning his crutches against the wall so he could clap with music and laugh at Fred and George's antics. After watching everyone for a bit, Percy offered a hand to Lavender which she immediately accepted, and they moved out into the crowd leaving Harry leaning his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a huge grin on his face.  
  
The war seemed very far away in such a house filled with love and laughter.  
  
~*~  
  
Supper was served outside, and there was much catching up to be had. Everyone wanted to hear about Neville's studies in China, and how Charlie had gotten attacked by one of the dragons he was working with. Ginny and Hermione recounted their holiday and after dark Bill told a frightening tale about the origins of one of the curses he was trying to break at work. Eventually everyone wandered back inside, some to unpack, others to help Mrs. Weasley clean up. Percy and Lavender stayed in the backyard; she wanted to see the stars in a sky far from the blinding lights of London. Even with the bonfire that had taken a good part of the evening to get going still blazing, they burned as brightly as they did in the countryside around Hogwarts. The two were silent for a long while, taken in by the twinkling points of light until Percy broke the quiet.  
  
"Everyday I get reminded that I'll never know everything."  
  
Lavender giggled. "You know, Percy, most people take that fact for granted."  
  
"I can dream, can't I?" He smiled at her.  
  
"And how were you reminded today?" she asked, taking her eyes off the lights to look at him.  
  
Percy was staring back up at the sky. "I'd like to be able to tell you all about the stars. The names, the stories behind them."  
  
Lavender felt the slightest tingle in her chest, not quite hope but not simply nothing either. "We learn the names of the planets in Divination, but most of the stars and constellations are taught in Astronomy. Actually, I've got so much banging about in my head right now I prefer it this way. Just looking at something immensely beautiful in its own right, sharing it with someone dear to me. Feeling it, not knowing it."  
  
"But feeling doesn't tell me how to take away your terrible dreams, your dangerous visions... the pain you suffer because of them. Because if the girl I've come to know is this extraordinary under such debilitating conditions, I would love to know her on a good day."  
  
Lavender remembered her parents taking her to an amusement park once, when she was young and still cute enough for them to spend time on her. She'd watched the roller coaster, too small to ride it herself but entranced by the people in the car, imagining the anticipation they must feel as they clicked higher and higher on the track, momentum building for the inevitable fall both terrifying and exhilarating. She never went on the roller coaster, but right now she believed she knew just what she had missed.  
  
She slid close; he smelled of plain soap and cotton, with a slight tinge from the late summer sweat. "This is a pretty good day. No incapacitating migraine, no blackout vision, no horrifying dream." She brought her face very close to his and pulled his spectacles off his face with an aching slowness. "What would you like to know?"  
  
Each saw each nothing but the other, the stars forgotten. "I don't even know where to begin," he whispered.  
  
Lavender held her ground, not wanting to make the first overt move until she was sure. "Are you declining the most unsubtle of hints, Percival Weasley, or are you simply being a gentleman?"  
  
"I am _always_ a gentleman," he replied, with an ever so slight but definite smirk that she could barely see in growing darkness, lit only by the remnants of the bonfire. She wasted not another second and pressed her lips to his in what began as a sweet, chaste kiss, but soon exploded into something much more than she had bargained for. After about three seconds, Percy came out of his shock and pulled her sideways into his lap, responding to her affection with such a hidden passion that Lavender thought she might start to burn from the inside out. The spectacles dropped from her hand, forgotten on the bench while the bonfire that had taken so long to bring to life continued to crackle merrily next to them.  
  
~*~  
  
A tall, slender woman in olive robes that made her skin look sick and pasty walked hurriedly into the Muggle inn, her straight dark hair flowing around her waist like visible wind. The innkeeper waited until she was halfway up the stairs before calling out; he liked to annoy her.  
  
"Miss Inselhoffer!"  
  
The tromping stopped, and then started again, this time slower and headed downwards.  
  
"Ja?"  
  
"You have a letter. Just arrived this morning," he said, in English to annoy her even further.  
  
She narrowed her dark eyes at him and stomped to the desk, snatched the letter from the insipid man, turned around to go upstairs... and noticed that the wax had been resealed; the signs were unmistakable. She swung around on her heel and fixed her vicious gaze on the offending ingrate; he shivered, suddenly realizing he had gone too far. Miss Inselhoffer walked slowly forward, making sure each fall of her boot resounded on the hardwood floor. She held up the letter in one hand as she folded her other arm across her chest to brace her elbow.  
  
"You open this, ja?"  
  
Perhaps if the poor man had had the slightest idea who he was really dealing with, he would not have tried to deny it. When Gisela headed back up the stairs, the man was wiping the sweat pouring off his face with a handkerchief and trying not to think about the new pain in his other hand. Getting to her room, she slammed the door and locked it behind her, then pulled out her wand and waved it over the letter. It didn't matter that he had read it, it had been spelled to reveal its true contents only to the intended recipient. Now when she cracked the seal, words quite different from what the innkeeper had read were written before her._  
  
Miss Blackwood-Dale,  
  
The Alliance is sorry to hear that Mortimer Fessler got his hands on the necklace before you did; however, we take comfort in the fact that you did manage to retrieve the sapphire as the necklace and its alleged power are not complete without it.  
  
I, and the Alliance, have a request to make of you, now that this mission is complete: I would like you to bring the sapphire to me yourself and take up the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year. I know you have been out of the mainstream wizarding world for several years, but word may have come to you about our bad luck in this department. I need someone I can trust unequivocally, whom no one knows how to locate unless you choose for them to know. The time between now and September first should be more than enough for you to dodge any trackers. Enclosed is a ticket for the Hogwarts Express; taking the train instead of apparating directly to the Hogwarts gate should also throw off any followers.  
  
Do not tell anyone that you are coming here until you are safely on the train; I intend to keep you a secret from outsiders for as long as possible.  
  
My best wishes for your safe return,  
  
General Mata Hari  
_  
"Miss Blackwood-Dale" chuckled, then slowly put down the letter and walked over to the only mirror in the room. She stared at herself, inspecting the woman known as Gisela Inselhoffer staring right back; quiet words emanated from her mouth as if narrating a long forgotten dream. "It was all so long ago... come back... to England... after all this time? And then _teach_ at Hogwarts?" She touched her pale lips, the shadows under her eyes, the straggles of hair that hung down her back like condemned men. "What if I've forgotten who I am?"  
  
She was brought back to her surroundings by a knock and the muffled voice of the innkeeper's wife telling her when supper would be ready. "Danke," she said shakily to the door. Taking one last look at herself in the mirror, she got up and vanished into the lavatory.  
  
Had anyone been able to break through the anti-surveillance charms she had put on her room, they would have seen a different woman come out. Same body type, and same length of hair, but her skin was a healthy pink, the hair medium brown, and her eyes, no trace of dark circles underneath, were a vivid blue. With wand in hand, she walked back over to the mirror and began to shear the inches off her wet hair until it hung just below her shoulders; the natural wave would shorten it as it dried. Muttering a spell under her breath, she pointed her wand at her head again, angling the tip at her hair line and drawing it back over and down. The charm left behind a bright blond streak, and she continued until the unnatural highlights were completed to her satisfaction. There was no trace of Gisela Inselhoffer left in the mirror.  
  
"Time to go home, Ursula," she whispered, now with a crisp English accent.  
  
A few minutes later, the room was deserted, with only a few Marks left on the dresser to show that anyone had stayed here at all.


End file.
